


Electric Twist

by sunjolras



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, F/F, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunjolras/pseuds/sunjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Touch me."</p><p>She inhales and says again, slower, "Touch me like that."</p><p>They've never done that before. Feuilly's never wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Twist

As she undresses Bahorel, Feuilly can't help but think that she's a goddamn work of art. She traces the pale scars peeking out from under her sports bra, the stretch marks lining the sides of her thighs, watching as Bahorel's muscles jump beneath her cool fingertips. The way Bahorel is put together overwhelms her every single time.

She goes when Bahorel pushes her toward the bed, stepping out of her jeans before lying down. Bahorel settles over her, a warm, solid weight, and takes off her bra.

"God, you're so cute," Feuilly whispers, cupping her small chest.

She feels Bahorel's laughter against her palms as she arches into the touch.

"I guess my tits  _are_  pretty cute."

Grinning, Bahorel leans down and kisses her, a brief, teasing press of her mouth. She follows it with a soft bite to Feuilly's bottom lip, sending a shivering warmth straight to her stomach. Feuilly smiles into the kiss, and Bahorel's fingers work their way under her t-shirt to splay across her ribs.

"All of you is cute," she murmurs, drawing patterns down Bahorel's spine.

Bahorel huffs, lips curled in a smile, and sits back to shimmy her boyshorts down her legs. They get tossed somewhere in the corner, but Feuilly's attention is on Bahorel's expression as she reaches between her thighs. 

It felt weird the first time they had sex, Feuilly just watching. Later, Bahorel told her that it was a strangely good sensation, knowing that someone was watching without expecting a performance. Bahorel gasps and rubs faster, head tipped back. It's an image that belongs in galleries, captured on canvas and worshipped. Feuilly's arousal is a dull pulse, more from the kissing than anything else, but her curiosity is suddenly sharper.

"Touch me."

She inhales and says again, slower, "Touch me like that."

They've never done that before. Feuilly's never wanted to. 

After a moment, Bahorel’s hand dips down and hovers at the edge of Feuilly's panties, her eyebrows lifted in request. At Feuilly's nod, it delves lower, slipping under white elastic. Her thumb skims over her clit and Feuilly's breath stutters nervously in her chest. Bahorel catches the slight tremor and stops. Without missing a beat, she brings her hand to her mouth to lick her fingers clean, letting out a tiny sound. That noise is what Feuilly will remember later when she gets off in the shower.

"You good?" Bahorel asks, brushing Feuilly's hair back from her forehead with her other hand.

Those two words, the quiet concern around them, are more important than Bahorel will ever realize. It's the easiest thing in the world to look up at her and say, "Yeah, I'm just fine."

Feuilly knows that Bahorel wants to eat her out, and she thinks that one day she might let her.

Now, though, she grabs Bahorel’s wide hips and pulls her up until she’s straddling Feuilly’s face. She keeps her eyes fixed on Bahorel as she sucks and licks, not needing to encourage her to move above her.

Bahorel is all tight muscle and choked off moans and Feuilly could stay here for a long time. However, Bahorel’s slipping two fingers inside herself, cheeks flushed, and slicking Feuilly’s chin and lips as she slides her tongue beside them.

She comes like a gunshot, thighs tensing around Feuilly’s head, and shakes apart. Feuilly keeps her upright with warm, steady hands on the small of her back.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Bahorel pants, slumping forward.

Feuilly laughs, carefully tipping her to the side before it gets uncomfortable. “Close enough.”

Bahorel kicks at her ankles and grins. She sprawls over the sheets, completely at ease with taking up most of the bed. Feuilly stays on her back, running her shirt over her face.

“C’mere, I’m cold,” Bahorel murmurs, stretching out her arms.

Rolling her eyes, Feuilly tangles her long legs with Bahorel's and curls around her.

“Maybe if you put on a shirt for once in your life,” she grumbles.

Bahorel scoffs. “You’d miss the view.”

"Don't make me kick you out."

Even though she's aware that Feuilly wouldn't, and neither of them talk about why that is, Bahorel quiets down and tugs the comforter to cover their shoulders. The heating's broken, Feuilly wonders if it ever worked in the first place, but it's warm enough under the blanket that she doesn't mind.

She knows that Bahorel will be gone in the morning. She also knows that there will be fresh coffee, brewed a little too strong, and a note stuck to the bathroom mirror. She will have to somehow decipher Bahorel's shitty handwriting and when she does, she'll smile.

Tomorrow will be a good day.


End file.
